


Glimmerings

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: A post Bargaining fic. PG





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).

Spike thought he’d held it together pretty well, all things considered. He hadn’t even cried beyond the outburst of tears at first sight of the Slayer's poor, broken body at the foot of the tower and the overwhelming knowledge that she wasn’t going to walk away from this one. Instead, he’d sucked it up and forged ahead, looking after Dawn as best he could, trying to keep the Scoobies from getting themselves too hopelessly mauled…doing what Buffy would have wanted. But now, Buffy was back, and he could fall apart with impunity. Which he proceeded to do.

“All back to normal,” he slurred, raising his bottle of Scotch to the television. “She’s snuggled up to her pals, and I’m alone in the crypt. Just like old times.”

He managed to set the bottle on the table next to his armchair, but it was a near thing, and most of the whiskey sloshed onto the floor. Spike contemplated the mess owlishly, then decided to hell with it. He was probably drunk enough to sleep by now.

He staggered to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress, barely coordinated enough to pry off his boots. Rolling to his back, he flung an arm across his eyes, as if blocking his physical vision would do something about the thoughts that ran through his mind despite the alcohol he had consumed.

_It hadn’t been particularly hard to figure out the Slayer was back, when during his frantic hunt for Dawn the carnage had started to decrease and the demon bodies to pile up. Unless Willow and the others had suddenly become proficient without telling him, there was a new player in town. The collapsing tower was also a big clue._

_He made it to the Summers’ house which had lights blazing in every window and saw them in the living room, gathered in a circle around Buffy, Dawn kneeling directly in front holdin andg her sister’s hands. Buffy stared straight ahead like a sleepwalker, only a slight tremor showing that she lived._

_Willow met him at the front door, holding her hands out to bar his way._

_“It was you,” he hissed. “You brought her back.”_

_She was white-faced and swaying with weariness but faced him directly. “Yes, it was. I had to. And she’s all right, not a zombie or anything.”_

_His own senses told him the witch was right about that at least. He could catch her scent even from the doorway. It was the human Buffy sitting there, but she was a long way from all right._

_Spike started forward, but Willow caught him by the arms._

_“No. Seeing you isn’t a good idea right now.”_

_He stared at her, then shook her off so violently that the chip tingled. “Right. I’m a member of the group when you need extra muscle but now that the Slayer’s back, the disinvite’s back up? Sod that! I’m going to have a look at her, see just what damage you’ve done!”_

_“It isn’t that.” Dawn was suddenly there, sliding between him and Willow. “Buffy’s…confused right now. And very, very, Slayerish, only really waking up if she needs to fight something. She might try to kill you before we could make her understand you weren’t a threat.”_

“The more things change,” Spike muttered, sliding into drunken sleep. “The more they stay the same. Welcome home, Slayer.”

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark, tiny, closed in space.

  
Lungs shrieking for air.

Pain in her hands from breaking nails and tearing skin as she clawed at fabric and wood.

Buffy shot upright, throat clamping closed on a scream. She could sit up, she realized. There was space around her, not like before. She brought her arms down and unclenched her fingers. She must not have screamed for real this time because the house was quiet, Willow asleep beside her.

None of this knowledge used any sort of language as it formed in her mind. Buffy could feel the words in her head somewhere, but they weren’t quite ready to come out. For now, there were only thought-images, sensations, and that was all right. If she had to talk about anything, she might say that she wished they had let her be, let her rest. Might say that she wished she could jump again.

The walls of her room, of the house itself, pressed in on her although they never seemed to be moving no matter how closely she watched them. Still, she needed to get out, a desire that she understood would not be approved of by the others. Silently as any ghost, she slid from bed. She froze as Willow stirred, but the witch settled back into sleep and Buffy glided from the room.

Across the hall and down the stairs she went, bare feet making no sound. She barely disturbed the air in the living room, certainly nothing to waken Xander and Anya who slept there, Anya on the couch and Xander in the recliner. A sense of wrongness about the sleeping arrangements tickled across Buffy’s mind, but the driving need to escape the confines of the house pushed it away.

She opened the front door with relief, but paused as the pre-dawn air nipped at her bare arms. After a moment, she reached slowly back inside and retrieved Xander’s jacket from the hall tree. It swamped over her down to her knees and she hugged herself contentedly. Something in the pocket thumped against her thigh, and she reached in to curl her fingers around the stake that rested there, waiting for her.

The concrete of the steps was also cold against her bare feet, but shoes felt beyond her at the moment. Ignoring the cold, Buffy slipped from the house. She moved through the streets, sights and sounds playing over the surface of her mind without touching the bruised core. The town was silent as she walked, her feet picking the direction. Sunnydale was slowly coming back to itself. It had been attacked before and would be attacked again, its resilience and ability to heal almost supernatural in its own right. It was her town, and she almost felt it gather her in, trying to heal her as well.

Eventually, she reached a place that felt more familiar than the rest, and she easily boosted herself over the wall of the cemetery, dropping onto the grass of the other side as lightly as a cat. The sky was becoming paler, and nothing disturbed her as she walked among the headstones.

Then, she saw the open grave and the neat pile of dirt beside it, ready to receive its coffin.

_Tinydarkcold. Can’tbreathe. Helpmesomebodyhelpme. Getmeout. Getmeout, GETMEOUT!_

Panic flashed through her, turning the grave into an open mouth waiting to devour her. There seemed no way to avoid it. She would fall in, the dirt close around her, and this time there would be no getting out. Trying to keep away, Buffy fell backwards and scrambled away, feet desperately pushing at the grass.

The world tilted, spun, spilled her forward, inexorably toward the grave. She gave a little wordless wail and pushed back harder, then staggered to her feet, head whipping frantically as she sought some way to escape. Nothing met her eyes but more graves, more headstones – white teeth that wanted to chew her up – and a small building.

Shelter. She knew it in her bones. If she could get inside that building, she would be safe. Buffy pelted across the cemetery, her eyes locked on her goal. She stumbled up the shallow steps and fell against the door, which opened with only a slight scrape of stone on stone. Then, the door was closed behind her and she leaned against it.

Her gaze fell on the tomb, and all her muscles clenched, but the panic didn’t come. There were other things here too: a chair, a television, a table. She knew what these things were, although she didn’t name them. She knew what the bed was too, and knew that the man sleeping on it was a vampire.

Buffy pulled the stake from her pocket and stepped forward cautiously. Part of her knew what to do, knew to drive the pointed end into his chest. Knew that she should do this. Knew that this was what she had been created to do.

Something else cried ‘No’ and stayed her hand.

She stood over the bed, looking down at the sleeping vampire. Remembering, if the images and sensations that flowed through her mind and body could be called that…

…Bruises from his fists.

… “What does it take to pry apart the Slayer’s dimpled knees?”

…An awkward pat on her shoulder.

…Betrayal.

….Fear.

…Bruises of his own, taken to spare her pain.

…Lips against hers. Softer than she had thought they would be.

…“I know you’ll never love me.”

….Trust.

Buffy slowly lowered the stake and stepped away until she felt the chair against the back of her legs. She settled into the seat, drawing her cold feet under her, and watched him sleep.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike woke slowly, convinced that someone was driving a stake through his head, or that Glory had returned with a newly-developed ability to brain-suck vampires.

_I’m getting too old for this. Heh._

Opening his eyes was going to be bad, and Spike planned to put it off as long as possible, preferably for a week or so. However, that plan was dropped when his senses shot into overload, telling him who else was in his crypt. His eyes flew open, the shock of knowing Buffy was there overriding the pain. Well, almost. A groan slid through his teeth even as he lurched into a sitting position. And went completely still.

She was coiled in his armchair like a cobra waiting to strike, hand curled tightly around a stake, and burning dark gaze fixed on him. Any smart-ass remark about waking up together flew out of his head. She was on the edge of something and he didn’t want to push her the wrong way.

“Morning, Pet,” he said softly, his voice automatically dropping into the soothing tones he had used with Dru. “If I’d known you were dropping by, I’d have picked up something for breakfast.”

_A lot of something. Somebody needs to feed the girl._

His heart ached as he took her in, pain overriding his normal response of lust. Her extreme thinness and tangle of long brownish hair made her look like a hurt child. Spike saw the blue tinge to her feet and felt tears sting behind his eyes.

“Here,” he said as normally as he could, reaching for a blanket. “Wrap up in this. Your toes look cold.”

He tossed it to her carefully, making sure the movement couldn’t be taken as a threat. She tensed, watching him unblinkingly for a few excruciatingly long moments, then slowly reached for the blanket, pulling it up around her feet with her free hand. It felt like a victory.

Spike sat back on the bed, leaning against the wall of the crypt and wishing he had some idea of what to do next. He knew she was hurting, and what he wanted to do was pick her up and hold her until she stopped, but she was also a hell of a lot stronger than he was, and her reactions were unpredictable at the moment. She wasn’t attacking, but he really wished she’d put down the stake.

She was also excruciatingly quiet, and Spike wasn’t sure how to deal with a silent Buffy.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked at last.

She didn’t answer for a long time, but he could almost see the thoughts moving behind her eyes.

“Vampire,” Buffy said at last in a rusty-sounding voice, looking from him to the stake in her hand.

It felt like she’d plunged it into his heart. After all this time, all he’d done and tried to do, and all she saw when she looked at him was the demon.

“That’s **what** ,” he said, the sudden harshness of his voice making her flinch. “I said who.”

Spike slid off the bed and knelt before her, forcing himself to ignore the way she drew back into the corner of the chair, ignore the way she gripped the stake.

“Do you know who I am?” he said again. “Slayer? Buffy?”

Her eyes searched his face, and she reached out suddenly, thankfully with the hand that wasn’t holding the stake. Spike held absolutely still as her fingers touched his jaw, moved up to slide along his cheekbone.

“Damnit,” he cursed as the sound of running footsteps came to him. He was on his feet and away from the chair as Willow hurtled through the door.

“Spike, Buffy’s miss….” She ran down at the sight of the occupant of his armchair. “Buffy, are you all right? We were so worried….” She hurried to the Slayer, gently brushing back her hair. Buffy endured the touch, eyes moving from Willow to Spike.

“What happened?” Willow asked, and he tried to ignore the pleasure that ran through him as he realized the question wasn’t accusatory. After all, he should be annoyed that she didn’t think he had hurt Buffy. Of course, he should have actually wanted to hurt Buffy, but there you were.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “She was here when I woke up. I thought you said she was all right,” he added, the sight of the lost, frightened Slayer putting a bite of accusation in his voice. He’d rather have Buffy punching him in the nose than like this.

“She will be,” Willow said firmly. Gently, she tugged at Buffy’s arm. “Let’s go home, ok? Dawn’s worried about you, and it's time for breakfast.”

Buffy stood docilely, the blanket sliding from her lap to the floor. To the surprise of both Willow and Spike, she bent and retrieved it, laying it across the chair, and put the stake back into her pocket.

“Why don’t you come by the Magic Box tonight?” Willow said, looking at him speculatively as she and Buffy walked toward the door.

He nodded, again quelling the upsurge of pleasure he felt at the knowledge that he was being included.

They had reached the door when Buffy halted suddenly and turned back to face him. She stared at him, frowning, then her face cleared and she nodded as if confirming something to herself.

“You're Spike,” she said calmly and then turned and preceded Willow from the crypt.


	2. Chapter 2

Her jaw muscles ached. Actually, her entire face hurt from keeping a pleasant expression pasted on, from smiling, from talking about normal everyday things when what she really wanted to do was scream.   
But now that she was on patrol, Buffy could safely drop her mask. She insisted on patrolling alone, and the others were glad enough to go along with it, glad enough of anything as long as she was there to give the orders. Not that she really patrolled alone. Buffy glanced aside and saw that Spike had appeared beside her as he usually did when she neared the cemetery. She nodded slightly, and he nodded back, and they fell into what had become a pattern, pacing off their self-appointed rounds.

_I can be alone with you here._

It was true. Since she had come…been brought…been dragged…back, Spike had taken ‘unintrusive’ to new and dizzying heights. He hadn’t approached the Magic Box or her house after she told him the real circumstances of her return two weeks ago, but he joined her patrol every night. Sometimes he talked, a running patter that drummed on her ears like rain on the roof and required no response. Other times, he was quiet, creating an undemanding silence that she didn’t need to fill.

Deep inside, Buffy recognized what he was doing and why, and knew that she would have to address it sometime. It wasn’t fair for her to take from him this way when she had so little to give in return. But she needed it for now, needed somewhere she could go to let her bruised and bleeding spirit find peace.

She detected movement to her right and turned smoothly, pulling the stake from her belt as something large and clawy appeared. There was no hesitation. After the first few days, Buffy had stopped wondering if it wouldn’t be better to just let the monster of the day kill her again. Dimly, she sensed that she couldn’t do that, that to die from fear or giving up wasn’t the way.

“It’s got a friend,” Spike said, and she glanced back to see that a second large, clawy demon had emerged from the other side, bracketing them. “I’ll take it. Watch yourself.”

He was already moving to the second as she returned her attention to the first.

The fight was brisk and silent except for grunts and the sound of weapons meeting flesh, Buffy’s ability to banter with her foe being one of those things that hadn’t returned with her. This loss was more than made up for by her extra strength and speed however, and the swiftness and force of her attack surprised even her a little. Two strikes and the demon was on its knees, a third and it was flat on its back.

She looked down at it distantly, unable to care very much about her victory. Like most things these days, the fight felt one step removed from reality, as if it were something she was watching in a movie, interesting, but nothing to do with her. Then from behind her, Spike made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a gurgle, and the situation abruptly snapped into immediate, blimding focus. Buffy slammed her stake into the demon’s heart and spun, almost in the same motion.

The second demon was falling to dust as she completed her turn, and Spike was standing there, trying to look nonchalant.

“Well, that added a bit of excitement to the evening, didn’t it?” he said brightly with a very bad imitation of his usual smug grin. His face was unmarked, but as he pulled cigarettes and lighter from his duster pocket, Buffy’s eyes locked on his shaking hands.

“You’re hurt,” she said, reholstering her stake and moving swiftly towards him. “How bad?”

“What, that? Hurt me? Nah, not a chance,” he returned. “I’m fine. But as anything else should have been discouraged by watching that fight, I’ll just make it an early….” Spike was backing away from her as he spoke and didn’t see the tombstone that caught him on the back of the legs. He swayed, unable to catch himself, then fell backwards, failing to stifle a groan as he hit the ground.

In an instant, Buffy was kneeling beside him and rolling him onto his side. “I thought you were fine,” she remarked, noting the tears across the back of his coat. The instant before being staked, the demon must have reached around and gotten a claw strike in.

“Bit of a scratch, perhaps, nothing to trouble yourself over.” He said through gritted teeth, then fell silent as she laid a hand against one of the tears then held her reddened palm up for inspection.

“If that’s a scratch, I’d hate to see your definition of ‘wound’,” she commented sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, my little session with Glory put things in perspective,” Spike shot back. “I’ll be fine, Slayer. Don’t trouble yourself about it.”

_Glory hurt him because of me. I’m the reason he got hurt tonight too._

The knowledge made her hands gentle on his arms as she stood and helped him rise. “I’m not troubling,” Buffy said. "I’m getting you back to your crypt.”

She knew he was in bad shape when his protests died off about halfway to their destination, and he stopped trying to pull away from her. When Spike was in too much pain to bitch, he had to be in bad shape.

“Here we are, all safe and sound,” he said at the doorway of his crypt. “I can tend to things from here on out. I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow.”

Buffy sighed. “Spike, even you aren’t good enough to take care of your own back. Stop being…”

“I’ll manage.”

The flat coldness of his voice stopped her. His face was set, pain drawing at the corners of his eyes. Worry and annoyance ran through her in equal measures, but she of all people should understand about boundaries, both the setting and the respecting thereof.

She took a deep breath and said mildly, “If you don’t want me to look at your back, that’s fine. But Spike, you’re hurt, and I’m pretty sure you can’t fix it by yourself. Let me get somebody to help you, ok?”

Spike closed his eyes. “Buffy, it isn’t….” He swayed, his face tightening even more.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. But, please, let me find someone.”

He shook his head tiredly. “You might as well come in.”

She followed him into the crypt, still unfamiliar with its new additions of furniture. Spike switched on a lamp before she could get to it, then flinched violently when he tried to shrug the coat from his shoulders.

“Cut that out,” Buffy scolded. “You’re one that’s hurt this time, remember? I'll do it.”

She moved up behind him and eased the coat back from his shoulders and down his arms. Spike stood rigid, not making a sound even when the leather stuck to him, and she had to pull it free. Buffy swallowed when she saw the extent of the damage. The demon’s claws had ripped through Spike’s coat, t-shirt, and back, drawing four parallel gashes from his left shoulder to just above his right hip. The remnants of his shirt were soaked in blood, scraps of black fabric sticking to the wounds.

She opened her mouth to say…something…but remembered how the others; words had tired her, how she’d felt like she had to deny the pain to reassure their horror. So, she only took Spike’s arm and guided him to the bench.

“First-aid stuff?” Buffy asked matter-of-factly.

“The trunk back there.”

His voice was weak, tired, and before heading for the first-aid supplies, Buffy went to the small refrigerator that sat in the corner and retrieved several vials of blood.

“Drink this,” she said quietly, putting an open vial into his hand and setting the others on the bench. “You’ve lost a lot.”

Spike nodded and started to drink as Buffy rummaged through the chest and found bandages, alcohol, cloths, and a pair of scissors.

“I hope this wasn’t your favorite black t-shirt of all time,” she announced, setting the bandages and disinfectant on the floor. “Because it’s pretty much toast.”

He jumped slightly as she slid the scissors under the hem and began to cut up the back. “Enjoying yourself, Slayer? After all, this must fulfill of several of your fantasies,” he said in a tone that held an echo of his old snide commentary.

Buffy felt an unfamiliar expression on her face and realized that she was grinning. Sniping with Spike seemed so…normal. “It's a definite turn-on, but in my fantasies, you’re hurt a lot worse, and I’m the one that did it.”

“You’re back there with the scissors,” Spike snorted. “Do your worst.”

“Some other time.” Buffy pushed his shirt away from the wounds and felt every muscle in his back clench under her hands. Keeping her voice deliberately light, she said, “It’s more fun if you start out healthy.”

“There seems…to be plenty…for you to enjoy yourself with…Bloody Hell!” he snarled as she pulled a swatch of blood-soaked t-shirt from one of the gashes.

Buffy put a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “This is going to hurt. I’ll go as fast as I can.”

Spike nodded briefly and she saw his hands fist around the edges of the bench. He made no other sound as she eased the bits of cloth from the wounds, but Buffy could see the muscles shift and coil under his skin. As promised, she went as fast as she could while keeping her touch light.

_This shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have gotten hurt for me._

It wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last since he seemed to have appointed himself her guardian as well as Dawn’s. Buffy kept her eyes on what she was doing, but her mind kept wandering, tossing up memories of their past. So strange that the man she had fought in the hallway of her high school should be the one she sought now, his presence the only one able to bring her comfort.

She remembered how protective he’d been of Drusilla, and how the mad vampire had used it, used him with no thought of return and then left without a backward glance. Buffy had thought it was funny at the time, but that had been in the days when she and Spike were enemies. Now…

_Now, I’m the one using him. Taking advantage. And he got hurt because of it. This can’t go on._

She shook her head at the realization, then saw that she finished getting the cloth out of the wounds. “Ok,” she said aloud. “We're done with step 1, but now I’ve got to clean these. That’s going to hurt too.”

“No, really?” Spike growled. “I’m shocked. I was sure a wonderful time would be had by all.”

“It’s too bad you weren’t hit in the mouth,” Buffy grumbled, using the words to mask her swallow as she soaked one of the cloths with alcohol, then touched it to the first gash.

Air hissed through Spike’s teeth, and his hands closed so hard on the bench that she thought he was going to break it. Again, she wished she could say something to convey how sorry she was that this had happened, but the words hid themselves away, and talking wouldn’t make it better or faster. Buffy set her jaw and continued, trying to ignore the stinging in her eyes.

In reality, it only took a couple of minutes to disinfect his back, although it seemed to last an eternity. Both of them were trembling when Buffy finally said, “I’m done,” and laid down the supplies.

She shifted to sit beside Spike on the bench and got a look at his face. He was paler even than usual and sweat stood out on his forehead. His eyes were closed tightly, his hands still gripping the sides of the bench.

Without thinking, Buffy laid one of her hands over his. “I’m done,” she said again. “Relax. It’s over.”

His eyes opened slowly and looked into hers, and Buffy felt that same tingle of awareness that had occurred that first night back at her house, the tingle that had sent her fingers flying to do up her shirt buttons. She was suddenly, painfully conscious of his chest and arms, not particularly hidden by the remains of the t-shirt, the cool strength of his hand under hers, the blue of his eyes visible even in the dim light.

“Bandages,” she said abruptly.

The scarred eyebrow lifted. “What?”

“Bandages. For your…um…back. Which needs to be bandaged. But that shouldn’t hurt,” she added hastily.

“It’ll heal well enough without,” he said.

Spike was watching her closely, both of them knowing that what they were saying wasn’t what was really being communicated. Buffy looked down and saw that his hand had somehow turned over under hers, and that their fingers had entwined. Spike followed her gaze and they froze for an instant before their hands simultaneously sprang apart.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at once, then looked at each other suspiciously.

“Why…”

“Why…”

They stopped again. Finally, Buffy pointed to herself and said, “I’m sorry you got hurt tonight. Your turn, although you don’t have anything to be sorry about that I know of.”

Spike stood, moving awkwardly to retrieve a shirt from a pile on a chair. This one was black brocade that buttoned up the front, and he was able to get into it with minimum discomfort while Buffy watched in relief that was not unmixed with disappointment.

Dressed again, he turned back to her and said, “I’m sorry you had to do all this. You aren’t supposed to be looking after me.”

“The way you’ve been looking after me for two weeks? And back before everything happened?” At his startled look, she sighed. “Did you think I didn’t notice? Or that I just didn’t care?”

He looked away. “There wasn’t anything to notice. As for your caring, I wasn’t doing it for that. Told you the night we went for Glory that I know you’ll never love me.” He shrugged, smiled slightly. “Doesn’t matter. Anything I did was because I wanted to.”

Buffy looked down at her hands, knotted and twisted in her lap. Her eyes were stinging again, and the words she needed to say were trapped in the lump at the back of her throat. Talking about her feelings had never been easy. She had hidden her role as Slayer for so long that silence about the important stuff was second nature to her now. And every time she thought about saying what was in her heart, she seemed to hear Angelus’ voice laughing.

But this was different, wasn’t it? Spike’s change hadn’t come from any curse. The chip controlled his physical actions, not his nature. He could still have done evil things, had done them for awhile. And he had proven himself time and again.

_I’d rather die than see her in that much pain._

She had known for a long time that he had changed and that he did, indeed, love her. But now, at last, she recognized it and admitted it to herself.

“Here, now,” Spike interrupted her thoughts, the softness of his voice belying the words. “There’s no need to turn on the waterworks over anything. What’s the line, ‘we can always be friends’?”

“I don’t know it.” The words burst out of her almost on a sob, and she covered her face with her hands.

There was a pause, and then Spike said, “You don’t know what?”

His voice was much closer. Buffy knew he must be standing right over her, but she kept her hands over her face, trying to get some sort of control. Everything was coming to a head: she could feel the pressure building up inside, but habit tried to keep the lid clamped down.

There was the lightest of touches on her hair. “What don’t you know, Buffy?”

She had to say it. Nothing else would be fair or right. Buffy dropped her hands and looked up to meet Spike’s gaze. “I don’t know that I’ll never love you.”

He didn’t move; his face didn’t even change expression, but something flared behind his eyes the way it had that night at her house when he realized it was her on the stairs instead of the ‘bot.

“I don’t know that I don’t love you now,” she went on, without dropping her eyes from his. “I don’t know anything except that I crawled out of a coffin two weeks ago, and I thought I was in hell, and when you were there, finally, I felt…safe.”

Spike didn’t back away as Buffy rose, and they ended standing bare inches apart. There was nowhere for her to go except backwards over the bench or forwards into him. Unable to do either, she held still. He was still too, more so than she was, since he didn’t need to breathe.

“I like feeling that way. Part of me… all of me, really…wants to feel that way more,” she went on. “I want to hide in your arms, let you hold me forever, the way Reilly wanted me to feel about him, I guess. But, Spike, I don’t know if it's real. I don’t know if I just feel this way because of everything that happened, and if it’ll go away as I get used to being back or what’s going to happen. And I don’t want to use you like some kind of security blanket. I did that too long.”

She didn’t know she was crying until he reached out and brushed away the tears from her cheek. His hand dropped to her shoulder, drawing her gently towards him.

“Come here.”

She obeyed, too worn and desperate to do anything else. His embrace was the haven she had thought it would be and despite herself, Buffy felt her muscles relax as his arms closed around her and her head fitted under his chin.

“Did you even listen to anything I said?” she complained into his chest and felt him smile.

“Not after the part about you wanting me to hold you. I lost track of things.”

Buffy started to slide her arms around his waist, then stopped. “Your back. I’m sorry.”

“Sod my back,” he growled.

“No, not sod your back. That’s what I was talking about. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And you won’t.”

Before she realized what was happening, Spike turned, still holding her, and sat back on the bench, drawing her into his lap. Buffy knew she should protest, knew she should get up and leave, but she couldn’t. It felt too right, too perfect. Every cell in her body cried out to stay.

Spike tilted her chin back until he could look into her eyes. “Now, you listen to me,” he said seriously. “You’re not to worry about anything to do with this. You want to be held, and as it happens that I want to hold you, it all works out.”

She shook her head. “It’s not right.”

“I’m evil, remember? I care bugger all about right.”

Trying again to get through to him, to articulate the deepest fear in her heart, Buffy said, “It won’t be **enough**.”

“Ah, so that’s it. You think I’m going to start pushing you.”

“Not so much pushing,” Buffy said. “More like…wanting. And me knowing you’re wanting, and not able to give it to you.”

One hand toyed with a lock of her hair as Spike paused, gathering his thoughts. “Just being here like this,” he said at last. “Is so much more then I thought would ever happen. That you’re here, that you even consider me a friend, let alone someone you might have feelings for. Take me a long time to get bored with that. You’ll probably be 110 before it happens.”

“I think I can figure things out before then,” she managed. Actually, Buffy was pretty sure she’d figured them out already. Her body certainly wasn’t having any problems. One of her arms had ended up around his neck, careful to avoid his injuries, and her fingers played in the tousled strands of his hair.

“Take your time. I'm only ever going to want what you can give.”

“Something like this?”

Without letting herself think about it, Buffy leaned forward and kissed him. He was unmoving for a moment, then started kissing her in return, soft, light kisses that managed to be both arousing and relaxing all at the same time. Spike drew her closer, arms tightening until she was pressed against him everywhere. They sat that way for a long time, the exploration gentle, non-urgent, until at last his tongue flicked lightly once over her mouth and he pulled back and smiled.

“That’ll do to go on with.”


	3. Chapter 3

_That was…it?_

Buffy resolutely pushed the thought away as she’d been doing since she returned from seeing Angel.

Or she tried to. Normally, the thought obeyed when told to take a hike, or she could banish it by worrying about bills, patrolling, or trying to keep a smile on her face when talking to someone. Now, however, the bills were more of less dealt with, she was done patrolling, and everyone was asleep. Which wasn’t unreasonable, given that it was 2:00 a.m., but it did mean that the thought stayed in the front of her head.

She shifted on the hard floorboards of the porch, trying to distract herself from the memory of the meeting with Angel by focusing on her rapidly-numbing backside or the chill of the night air, but these proved insufficient to the task.

_“Buffy….”_

_He just stood there, looking at her with an unreadable expression. Or at least, it had been unreadable to her. It definitely hadn’t been a smile._

_“Uh…hi. I seem to not be dead.”_

She blinked, turning her memories away from the awkward stiff-bodied hug and looked around her at the night, up at the stars, out at the broken fence at the back, where a couple of times….

_No. I am **so** not wishing Spike would turn up like he always does when I’m sitting on this porch being sad. _

But she was, and she knew it. There were plenty of places in the house to brood, including her nice, warm bed, but she was sitting out here, hoping almost desperately that her former nemesis would appear, with his cocky smile, and his smart-ass remarks, and his almost unbearably gentle eyes.

Buffy sighed. It had been five days since she’d gotten back from her headlong flight to Angel, and Spike had been conspicuous by his absence since. He didn’t join her on patrol, materialize in her vicinity, or leave as much as a cigarette butt near his lurking tree. And she missed him.

To top things off, she knew why he wasn’t there. It had only been the day after she had confessed she had some sort of feelings for him that she had gotten Angel’s call and taken off like a bullet fired from a gun. Not her best timing. She had hurt him, and she hadn’t meant to.

_It’s not like I didn’t warn him this could happen. I said I didn’t know how I felt._

That petulant thought she did banish, knowing it for the excuse it was. She had wronged him, hurt him, and it was up to her to make it right.

But, God, she was tired. Buffy leaned her head against the porch pillar and closed her eyes. So tired. More tired than she had ever thought possible. There was nothing that said she had to do it tonight. But if she didn’t, it would be another night of not seeing him, another night of knowing he was hurting for no reason, another night of knowing she owed a debt.

Bone-weary, she dragged herself to her feet and went into the night.

_Maybe he’s not even here. Maybe he’s at Willies’ or riding on his motorcycle, or…_

Buffy didn’t know if hope or dread fueled the thought as she stood outside Spike’s crypt. If he was here, she could get it over with and stop dreading it, if he wasn’t here, maybe she’d feel better…stronger…on another day. Either way, she had to go up there and knock on the door, and…

The door swung open and a woman stepped out. Or rather, sauntered out, satisfaction evident in every step. Buffy stood silently in the grass, feeling as if roots had suddenly grown out of her feet, anchoring her to the ground, as the woman swung around to face back into the crypt. Her hand flashed out to fist in Spike’s t-shirt, pulling him to her as he laughed softly. When they parted, both were in game face, and Spike’s features didn’t fade as he caught sight of Buffy.

“Well, Slayer,” he drawled, leaning against the side of the entrance. “How nice to see you again. Be a love and refrain from staking my date, would you? It’d make a nasty end to a very pleasant evening.”

She couldn’t move. If every villain from her past, from Glory to the Master, had suddenly appeared, Buffy couldn’t have done anything about it. Several scenes played out in front of her eyes at once:

Riley, leaving their bed.

Parker walking away.

Angelus, laughing at her.

“Cat’s got her tongue,” the female vampire laughed. “I thought the Slayer always had a lot to say.”

“I have that effect on women,” Spike smiled, nuzzling the female vampire’s neck although his gaze stayed on the Slayer. “Make them go all quiet and girlish.”

_Stake them both._

The voice inside was quiet, calm, and cold as a bucket of ice water. It wouldn’t take much. The stake was in her belt, and Buffy had a feeling if she let the owner of that voice take over, she could stake Spike, the female, and every vampire in Sunnydale that evening and not break a sweat.

But it would be from anger, and there was just enough Buffy left in what was rapidly becoming a spinning black void to know that it would be wrong. There was also enough left to realize that it wouldn’t be hard for her to stop caring whether it was wrong or not, so she turned on her heel and walked away.

The pain hadn’t reached her yet, but she could feel it out there, circling like a shark around a swimmer in too deep water, waiting its chance to move in and devour her. The attack wouldn’t leave anything behind, and she welcomed the idea. No more Buffy sounded like a plan she could get behind. It was a safe bet that nobody would try the resurrection spell again. After all, the results of the first one had been pretty darn disappointing to everyone including herself.

“After five divorces,” her mother had said of a much-married family friend. “I would have to start wondering if maybe it was me.”

Angel. Parker. Riley. Angel again. Spike. Yep, that was five. If you counted non-dating relationships, you could add Giles and Willow and Xander to the mix. If the past could be factored in, there were Mom and Dad, and, of course, the Council of Watchers. She probably couldn’t count Snyder – it would be sort of like counting Drusilla – but it still didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what, or rather who, the problem was.

“Buffy!”

The pain must have crept in and taken a bite without her noticing, because Buffy was suddenly aware that she was down on her knees on the sidewalk near her house with no memory of falling, and Dawn was running towards her.

“What happened? Did somebody hurt you?”

Dawn knelt in front of her sister, running her hands over Buffy’s arms and back, frantically looking for wounds. Finding none, she threw her arms around Buffy’s unresponsive self and held on as tightly as she could.

“You’re so cold! God, you’re like ice! And you’re shaking!” She pulled back far enough to see into her face, and Buffy looked into the terrified eyes. “Please tell me what’s wrong. We’ll fix it. We’re Team Summers, remember? We can fix anything.”

She had been wrong. There was someone who was glad she was back no matter what form she took, someone who would be miserable if she left again. Which meant she couldn’t go.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Buffy said distantly, her trembling hand automatically brushing back Dawn’s tangled hair. “You’re not even wearing shoes.”

“Buffy….” Dawn took a breath. “We should **both** go inside,” she said carefully. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate. Or not,” she added as Buffy slid to the side and was violently sick into the gutter. “Come on. Let me help you.”

Buffy felt Dawn’s arm go around her waist, felt the thin body brace to help her stand. Then, she was moving, shoving her sister aside, drawing her stake as Spike’s vampire friend stepped from the shadows.

“The infamous Slayer,” she purred, smiling. “You don’t look quite as…intimidating…as I had pictured.” She nodded toward Dawn. “And this must be the former Key.”

“Dawn, go in the house,” Buffy said steadily, never taking her eyes from the vampire.

“Yes, run along. Your sister and I have some grown-up things to talk about.”

“Stake her, Buffy!” Dawn said furiously. “Turn her into dust.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d like to. And then run off for a good cry. You’re having a bad night, aren’t you, Slayer? Your little vampire toy grew a spine and some balls.” She grinned reminiscently. “Especially the last. No more babysitting Little Sister for him. Maybe he could tutor you, though, Sweetness. Teach you a few tricks to impress the boys behind the bleachers?”

Buffy saw Dawn flinch, and a combination of fire and ice swept through her veins. Everything was clear and remote all at the same time. There was no pain or sadness or confusion. There was only Vampire and Slayer and the inevitable outcome.

The vampire shifted into a fighting posture, but she was moving in slow motion while Buffy accelerated to light speed. One breath and she was under its guard; the next, her stake wasin its heart; a third, and there was nothing left but a cloud of dust and Dawn blinking at her.

“I’ve never seen you move that fast,” the girl whispered. “You just…blurred. What was she talking about anyway? What was all that about Spike?”

Buffy shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But, Buffy….”

“Really, Dawny. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_That wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be._

Sitting in Willie’s bar, Spike used the burning taste of the whiskey to help shove the thought away as he’d been shoving it for the last three days along with the memory of the Slayer’s huge pain-filled eyes.

That had been the point of the exercise hadn’t it? To hurt her, to make her feel the tiniest part of the agony that had gripped his heart since she ran off to Angel the day after he had held her in his arms?

Even now, rage and pain filled him at the memory of her words the other night; at the way she’d come to him willingly, at last recognizing that what he felt for her was real and that she returned those feelings. She’d kissed him, made him think she’d cared. Then, Angel had snapped his fingers and off she’d gone, with never a thought to what she’d left behind.

Spike had decided to not be left behind, to not be the castoff toy that was only picked up when the new wore off the rest. He’d go his own way, forget the Slayer, take his pleasure where he found it.

“…I'm only ever going to want what you can give…”

That was different. That was about not pressuring her for sex, not about standing around waiting while she ran through her old lovers, making sure there wasn’t something they could give her that he couldn’t.

“Gave her what I had,” he muttered. “Like always. Her, Dru, Cecily. Not enough. Spat on it. Bitches.” An unwilling grin creased his face. It had been enough for Amanda. The female vampire had certainly shown herself appreciative of his offering. Too bad she wasn’t back here tonight, but there were others,

The door opened and a male vampire scuttled in, paler even than usual, and staggered to the bar.

“Shot of A+,” he said to Willie, “And keep the glass full. I’m in for the night.”

“What’s got you spooked?” one of the others called. “Sun coming up early? Convention of Holy Water salesmen in town?”

“The Slayer, man.” The vampire’s shaking voice quelled the laughter in the bar. “She’s out and she’s not kidding. I just watched her take down a K’flack demon.”

There was a long moment of silence as everyone glanced nervously toward the door.

“A K’flack demon?” someone finally said. “That thing’s the size of a bus. What did she use, a flamethrower?”

“Her stake. About three hits with her stake, and she never even changed expression. Wham, bam, thank-you-Slayer, and there’s a pile of demon guts in the middle of the alley.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Spike snorted, ignoring the icy fingers trailing down his spine. “Be honest, mate. She scared you, and you’re saving face.”

“Damn right she scared me,” the vampire said without a trace of embarrassment. “And I’m not worried about saving my face. I’m worried about keeping a stake out of my heart.”

_Stupid prats, scaring themselves silly over nothing._

Spike flipped the channel to Passions, trying to convince himself that the other vampire had been making up stories to cover his defeat. Even if he hadn’t, there was nothing to worry about, was there? Buffy had won the fight, after all. She was the Slayer; she killed demons. No big deal.

Except that line about not changing expression sounded like the time Buffy hid inside herself after Glory took Dawn. Come to think of it, she hadn’t really changed expression in front of his crypt the other night, either. Her face hadn’t moved, just her eyes, getting bigger and darker as she stood there, bringing to mind Angelus’ description of his abandonment of her after losing his soul. “…You should have seen her face. It was priceless. I'll never forget it….”

Even then, he had thought it rather a harsh way to treat someone who loved you. Now…

_She didn’t mind hurting me, did she? Didn’t slow her down a bit. She had it coming. I wanted to hurt her, and I did, and I’m not sorry. Not at all._

Spike’s thoughts, not to mention his television watching, were interrupted by a crashing sound from the crypt entrance.

“What the…” He came to his feet, grabbing for the knife he always kept near to hand. This didn’t sound friendly. In fact, it sounded like someone was using an axe on the door.

Which is what it turned out to be, as the lock splintered under a final onslaught and Dawn Summers kicked her way inside. Her face was white and set, freckles standing out like blotches, eyes red and cheeks still wet from what had obviously been furious weeping.

“I don’t know what you did to Buffy,” she choked. “I don’t care. But I’m going to finish it for her. Maybe then, she’ll…she’ll be ok.”

The axe fell from her hand, and she reached behind her to pull one of her sister’s stakes from her belt. At the same moment, Spike saw the large cross dangling from her neck.

“Niblet?” he said, shocked. “What’s wr…”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” she screamed. “Don’t ever call me that again, you son-of-a-bitch! I HATE you!”

“Join the club, **Dawn** ,” Spike growled, feeling the demon stir despite himself at her rejection. “I haven’t done anything to the Slayer.”

“Buffy,” she corrected on a sniffle. “Her name is **Buffy**. She’s a person, not just the Slayer. Except maybe not anymore.”

Worry lanced through him, displacing the anger. That sounded bad. And the girl’s pain was like a raw, angry wound laid out for the world to see.

“What’s happened?” he asked, dropping into the gentle tones that had calmed Drusilla at her wildest. “Dawn, tell me what the trouble is, and I’ll help. I swear.”

She swallowed hard, but her grip on the stake didn’t waver and she stepped forward resolutely. “No. You don’t care. Not about me, and not about my sister.”

He was preparing to disarm her – it wouldn’t be difficult; he could do it without the chip firing – when a quiet voice said, “Dawny, stop. Put the stake down. This isn’t the way,” and he looked up to see Tara standing in the doorway.

Dawn also turned to look at the witch. It would be an ideal time to knock the stake from her hand, but something held Spike back.

“You saw her,” Dawn said miserably. “You saw how Buffy was. It’s his fault. Spike did something to her.”

Tara took a step forward. “Even if he did, killing him won’t help Buffy. Or you. There’s badness around all of us right now, Dawn, like a fog or a black cloud. Don’t add to it.”

She took another step and reached out a hand. “I know you want to help her. So do I, but not like this. Give me the stake, sweetie. You know I’m right.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Dawn let the stake fall into Tara’s hand. Then, she began to cry again, the chest-heaving sobs of an exhausted child. Spike started forward, but Tara shook her head, folding the girl into her arms and swaying gently, rocking her back and forth.

“What’s happened?” Spike asked again desperately. The way they were carrying on, it could be anything, up to and including Buffy being dead again, and Dawn’s grief was lacerating his heart.

“Buffy told Giles he should leave,” Tara said, her eyes on him even as she cradled Dawn. “Very cheerfully and pleasantly. She said she knew he had his own life, and it wasn’t fair to keep him here, wasting his time on her.”

“Giles said he didn’t think of it as a waste,” Dawn said tiredly, lifting her head from Tara’s shoulder. “And Buffy said, ‘Yes, you do. Besides, you’ll go eventually, so you might as well do it now and not lose your lease.’ She was smiling and happy and like she was fine with the whole thing.”

“Everybody started talking,” Tara continued. “But Buffy didn’t seem to understand that what she said was a problem. It was just the way things were. Like I said, she was very upbeat about it. She’s been like that the past few days. At first, I was glad because I thought she was feeling better, but it’s a lot like having the ‘bot back.”

“It all started a few nights ago,” Dawn finished. “I saw her leave and I was waiting up for her to come back. She was walking towards the house and she just fell over. I ran out, and she was cold and sick and wouldn’t talk. Then this woman vampire showed up, and said horrible things about you and Buffy and…and me.”

Oh, God. Spike closed his eyes. He’d told Amanda to stay away, but of course she hadn’t listened. She’d sensed weakness in the Slayer and gone after it, although her senses had apparently been a little off.

“She’s dust, I assume,” he said.

“Buffy staked her after she said something about you teaching me…things,” Dawn bit off.

“Ah. That would do it.” Pity. He would have preferred staking her himself after that remark. Comments like that were the price you paid for hanging around evil beings.

He opened his eyes and met the witch’s direct gaze. “I took up with her after Buffy went to Angel. She saw us together.” He shrugged a little. “I wanted to forget about the Slayer, hurt her a bit.”

Dawn stiffened, and Spike realized that she probably wasn’t the best audience for this sort of remark, but it was too late now. She had to learn sometime. Besides, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t leave.

“Congratulations,” Tara said coolly. “You made it. Because Buffy hasn’t been hurt enough, has she? I’m sure more was needed.”

“Oh, well, fine. Here’s a bit of news for you. **She hurt me too!** All right? One minute, she’s crying on my shoulder, saying I make her feel safe, the next, she gets a phone call from her old boyfriend and goes off without a backward glance.”

He paced back and forth, glaring at the women. “I know we’ve got a history. I was there. I’ve done what I could to make amends. I’ve helped her, helped the rest of you at every turn, and what do I get? Kicked in the teeth, cast aside, and threatened.” He pointed a finger at Dawn. “You didn’t even think to ask me about what happened, did you? You just started in with the attack. When have I done you a bad turn?”

Dawn stared down at her feet for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” she muttered at last. “I was scared.”

“Yeah, well, I get scared too. And upset.” He looked away. “And do things I shouldn’t.”

Tara sighed. “Buffy screwed up over Angel. I know that. I think she does too. So, go tell her about it. Yell, jump up and down, have a big fight, whatever. Don’t abandon her. I’ve listened to Willow’s stories and I’ve watched this group, and the one thing I get is that Buffy doesn’t think she’s allowed to make mistakes. That if she does, the world will end…which, ok, it might…and that everyone will leave her. She tries harder than anyone I’ve ever seen, and she hurts more than anyone I’ve ever seen when things go wrong.”

Spike remembered standing beside Buffy, watching Riley let a vampire feed from him, seeing the sorrow in her face and something like resignation, as if this were no more than she had expected on some level. He had recognized the same expression in her face that night at his crypt.

“Ok,” he said at last. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got to set up a couple of things.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was sort of peaceful. The ice encasing her felt like a prism or magnifying glass, and Buffy had never felt so focused, so clear about everything. The pain that had constantly accompanied her, at least since Angel had turned, and maybe since her Call, had finally gone. Of course, everything else was gone too, but that was didn’t seem much of a price to pay.

…“I am destruction. Absolute. Alone.”…

_You had it together, First One._

She moved through her patrols like a feather, barely disturbing the air, except when she fought. That disturbed things enough, but only for a short time. Also, the amount of time she had to spend fighting had decreased significantly. She hadn’t seen anything even remotely occult in the two nights since she’d fought the K’flack demon. She’d even drifted by Willie’s and found it closed with bars drawn across the door.

Buffy leaped over the wall and dropped lightly to the sidewalk in front of the deserted cemetery. That had been a waste of a hunt, nothing to see but tombstones and crypts. No one had been there, not even….

A ripple stirred behind the ice, but she banished it with a steadying breath and turned her mind to important matters.

_Where else should I look? The docks?_

The low purr of a motor interrupted her thoughts, and Buffy turned to see the DeSoto idling up the street in her direction. Instinctively, she pulled further back behind her shield, and by the time the car pulled up alongside, her face was impassive.

Spike’s face was neutral too as he leaned down to look at her through the passenger’s side window. “Get in. I need to show you something.”

“What is it?” she asked, ignoring the sudden stir of her emotions.

“It’ll make more sense if I just show you.” As she paused suspiciously, Spike added, “Do you think I’d be pestering you if it wasn’t important, your Slayerness? It’s not as if I don’t have anything else to do.”

_Not with that vampire from the other night you don’t._

The smug tones of the mental voice startled Buffy. Apparently, her hard-won calm wasn’t as impenetrable as she’d thought. It would be smart to avoid Spike at this time since he seemed to be able to affect, if not shatter, her control like no one else could. Still, he had provided information in the past.

Buffy opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, and Spike pulled away from the curb with a muttered, “Thanks so much for honoring me with your presence,” which she ignored.

They drove in silence for a time until she noticed that they were heading out of town.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “What is it you need to show me?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

Awareness of something wrong twanged across her consciousness, but her voice remained calm as she said, “Spike, either tell me what’s going on, or pull over.”

He did neither, his hands tightening on the wheel as he continued to drive. She felt the the car speed up.

“I don’t know what stupid game you’re playing, but whatever it is, I don’t have time for it.” Still watching him, Buffy angrily reached for the door handle.

Which wasn’t there. Disbelieving, she whirled to look at the inside of the door and saw that the handle had been removed. As she watched, the lock buttons clicked down and Spike tromped on the accelerator, the sudden rush of speed flinging her against the back of the seat.

Adrenaline surged through her muscles, and wasting no more time arguing, Buffy swiveled to face the passenger door and pulled her knees to her chin in preparation for a kick that would certainly open the door and quite possibly take out the side of the car.

“No!” Spike shouted, and she felt one of his hands seize her belt and twist, throwing her slightly off balance. “Buffy, you’re not in any danger. This isn’t a trap. I just want to talk, that's all.”

“You’re right. I’m not in any danger,” she snarled. “And if you want to talk, then Stop. This. Car.”

“And have you flounce off without listening? No chance, Pet. You want out, you have to chance killing us both, and I’m betting you won’t do that. Not while you have to look after Dawn, anyway.”

He was right, damn him. They were going so fast now that if she jumped out or fought for the car, even with her speed and strength, there was a good chance she would die, and she couldn’t do that. Dawn needed her.

Buffy jerked clear of his grip and sat back, eyes drilling daggers into the side of his head. “So, talk, already. You’ve got my attention.” She smiled mirthlessly. “At least until you run out of gas.”

His smile was equally humorless. “Fasten your seat belt, Baby. It’s going to be a wild ride.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the surface, things weren’t going well. The Slayer wasn’t exactly melting in his arms and seemed to be looking forward to his running out of gas with pleased anticipation. He was having a hard time masking the panic he'd felt when he saw her prepare to kick out the door. He hadn't counted on that. All this time, all the fights they'd shared, and she could still surprise him. Which was quite a turn-on but was going to get him killed if he wasn't careful.

_Still, she is in the car. And she didn’t dust me the instant she figured out what was going on. That’s something._

He had also managed to make her angry, something generally wise to avoid with the Slayer, but anger was better than the indifference of despair. Anger could be worked with.

Spike watched from the corner of his eye as Buffy dragged the seatbelt across and fastened it jerkily. Good. On some level, she wanted to stay alive even if it was only to protect her sister. Now came the juggling act of holding the necessary conversation, keeping the car moving at a sufficiently high rate of speed to keep her from attacking, and avoiding running said car into a tree.

However, he kept any stress from his voice, allowing only annoyance to color it, as he fired the opening salvo. “You’re a real piece of work, Summers.”

Buffy didn’t answer, and glancing over, Spike saw that she’d folded her arms over her chest and was staring resolutely through the windshield, ignoring him. He wouldn’t have been overly surprised to see her stick her fingers in her ears and hum really loudly.

_Sorry, Love. Don’t think so._

They were on a semi-straight stretch of highway, so he jerked the wheel hard, sending the car careening across the yellow line and almost into the ditch. A human would have crashed it, and even his vampire reflexes had to fight for control for a moment before he got the car moving forward again.

He’d made his point however, for risking another glance, he saw that Buffy was clutching the sides of her seat and staring at him in shock.

“I’ve gone to a lot of trouble for tonight, so pay attention from here on out,” he snapped.

A growl answered that comment, and Spike knew that if he didn’t make his case convincingly, he stood a good chance of greeting the sun as a pile of dust. Buffy could only be bullied and scolded so far.

_Ah, well. Faint heart and all that._

“As I said,” he continued, modulating his voice back to conversational levels. “A real piece of work. Can’t even take a taste of what you’re always dishing out.”

“And that means what?” she gritted.

“That means you left first,” he said angrily, some of the hurt he’d felt breaking through despite himself. “You feel abandoned, you fall apart. If the rest of us feel that way, it’s too bad. We’ve got to just suck it up and take it.”

“I didn’t abandon anybody,” Buffy said angrily. “I was gone two days. I came back.”

“Until the next time Angel calls you or Finn shows up or maybe Parker wants a round two.”

Spike heard her breath hiss in, and decided mentioning Parker might have been a tactical error. His ass had undergone one of its more significant kickings during that time, and it wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat.

“It doesn’t look like you had too bad a time,” she struck back. “You and your vamp friend. Who came after me. Who came after **DAWN!** ”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said honestly. “That shouldn’t have happened. I told her to leave you alone.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t listen to you. And by the way, I only staked her because of what she said to Dawn. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I know.” Her face was turned away again, watching the scenery fly by the window, shoulders tight and hunched. Spike glanced at the gas meter, and relaxed when he saw there was still over half a tank. “If it helps, I didn’t like her.”

She shrugged a little. “I don’t suppose Reilly went with them because of their fascinating repartee.”

“If you’re going to compare me with the enormous hall monitor, we’re going to fight for real, chip or not.”

Buffy leaned back in the seat, anger drained out of her face and resignation setting in. “Sorry, Spike. I can’t help seeing a trend. I’m not what someone wants and they go off with vampires.”

“Oh, give it a rest!” he scoffed. “You’re always what I want, and you know it. You weren’t **there** , Summers. I thought…I thought you weren’t coming back, and I went a bit mad. Still, I shouldn't have gone with her." He cast her a sideways look. "Should have chased you down and turned you over my knee. Of course, you'd have ripped my leg off and beaten the rest of me to death with it, but that's still what I should have done."

Her mouth twisted a little in what might have been a smile, then she sighed and said, "I shouldn't have gone without saying something."

"You're going to have to choose, Buffy,” he said more gently. “None of this cuddled up to me one moment and off to another bloke the next, no matter who it is. I can’t manage that. It hurts too much.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It felt like the universe paused. She watched him drive, face pale and set, hands tight on the wheel.

She missed the ice. It had been comforting, surrounding her like some sort of frosty blanket, but Spike had melted it, shattered it, his pain reaching her when his anger couldn’t. It mattered to him that she stay, that she wanted to stay. That wasn’t something she was used to.

They had taken a long, strange journey, a wild ride as he had said. It had begun in the alley behind the Bronze, and would end who knew where? There had been some not-so-pleasant stops along the way. But she knew she would be lonely if he left her, knew she didn’t want to make the trip alone.

“You can slow down,” Buffy said at last. “Or even stop the car. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve chosen.”

Spike drew a deep, shaking breath, and she saw he had been surprised by her words. The realization moved her more than anything else. He’d been trying to be so cool and in control, but the emotion seeped through despite himself, and all the time he’d been unsure of her.

He didn’t look at her again as he eased off the accelerator and the tortured DeSoto began to slow. She didn’t look at him either, her eyes drifting closed, worn out by the emotional rollercoaster they’d both been riding. Another emotion filled her, replacing the chill of the ice, and it took her a moment to recognize it as relief. The choice had been made, and she thought it was the right one. She also realized that the pain hadn’t returned even as she allowed feelings to come back inside.

She felt the car turn, pavement giving way to dirt, and opened her eyes to see that Spike had turned off onto a deserted logging road, little more than a track that wound under overhanging trees. He halted the car, and blackness and silence settled around them, broken only by stars and crickets.

“You did choose me, right?” Spike said after a moment.

Buffy snorted. “No, I’ve decided Parker’s the way to go. Yes, I chose you. Dumbass."

“Your poetic use of language is but one of your many charms.”

“That and my right cross.”

She felt him undo the buckle of her seat belt, and then his arm was cautiously around her shoulders, drawing her across the seat. She went willingly enough and leaned against him, turning a little to fit against his side, an arm going around his waist.

He rested his cheek on her hair, and that sat that way for a time, both calming down, letting the night still them.

“I didn’t sleep with Angel,” Buffy said at last.

“I didn’t ask,” his hand slid up, caressed the side of her face. “But, thank you for saying.” She felt him turn and look down at her. “Why did you go to him, Buffy? You’d been apart for months. You didn’t even tell him about Glory.”

She tried to think. It was hard, now, to understand the driving urgency that had gripped her when she heard his voice. "I wanted it to be like it was. The way it was when I first loved Angel. When my biggest problem was combining Slaying with not failing math. When I was…young.”

“Twenty’s not so very ancient, Love,” Spike said.

“I’m only twenty in years. I’m a lot older otherwise.”

“I know.” Lips brushed her forehead and she snuggled closer.

"He was happy to see me. I think,” she continued. “But it was very much something he had to deal with. He'd moved on. God, had he moved on. So me being back was this thing that fell in his lap. I've gotten that a lot. Even Willow, and she's the one who brought me back in the first place. Even Giles. I'm this big problem for everybody. I think the only ones who're 100% glad I'm back are you and Dawn."

“The Niblet’s definitely glad you’re back. I heard there was a problem with you when she attacked me in my crypt.”

“Oh, God,” Buffy shifted around enough to look at him. “Poor Dawny.”

“Poor Dawny, indeed. I’m the one whose door got chopped down.” She could see his smile in the darkness. “She’s a tough little bird. Almost as vicious as her big sister.”

“Give her a few years, she’ll get there. Don’t mess with Team Summers.”

“I’m getting that. And for the record, I’m definitely glad you’re back too. I missed you.” His voice almost broke. “I missed you so much.”

Her lips found his, cutting him off. Spike’s arms tightened around her as he more than returned her kiss, his open passion and need a stark contrast to Angel’s stilted words. Buffy wriggled as close as the confines of the car would allow, trying to show with mouth and hands that her choice was made and not regretted.

Spike turned in the seat, hands coursing over her as if making sure that she was really there. He stopped kissing her long enough to curse when he got jammed into the steering wheel, elbow hitting the horn, then swept an arm under her knees and lifted, bearing her back onto the seat and following her down.

Buffy clutched him with all her strength, arching up against his hard body, relishing the fact that she didn’t have to hold back. It felt as if all of her nerve endings were snapping awake for the first time since she’d been back, making her feel as if she were drowning and burning and flying all at once, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

He disentangled long enough to shrug free of his duster and Buffy ran her hands up under his shirt, divesting him of that as well. Spike knelt over her a moment, the moonlight glinting off the pale skin of his shoulders and chest, throwing his face into shadow. Her fingers drew a slow line from the base of his throat down to his belt while he shuddered under her touch. She rested her hand on the buckle for a moment, watching him, then slid her hand slowly down, curling around the outline of his erection.

A sound between a groan and a snarl came from between his teeth, then her own shirt was yanked over her head and the catch of her bra torn open before Spike sank back down on her, tongue deep inside her mouth. She curled up and around him, arms tight across his back, legs wrapped around his hips, trying to get ever closer.

He buried his face in her neck, kissing and biting the tender skin there, and she heard him gasp. “Buffy. Oh, God, I love you.”

She closed her eyes and said the words, recognizing them for truth at last. “I love you too, Spike. Always you from now on. Only you.”

He went very still for a moment, his arms tight around her. Then he was kissing her again, as gentle and leisurely now as he’d been fierce before as if he understood that she wouldn’t leave, that they had time.

But not that much time. Buffy slid a hand between them and found his belt again, this time undoing the buckle and locating the button to his jeans.

“I’m trying to have a romantic moment here,” Spike complained mildly.

“You can have it later.”

“If you insissssss….”

She grinned at his reaction as her fingers located and gripped the cool hard flesh she sought, stroking firmly. He writhed against her hand, eyes flashing blue to gold and back again.

“Did you want to go back to romance now?”

He gave her a look, pulled her hand away from him, then pinned both wrists over her head and against the door with one hand, his other moving to her own belt. It was Buffy’s turn to twist and strain as his fingers slid over her folds with maddening slowness, dipped inside and out again, before returning to a lazy circling.

“You seem to have lost your train of thought, Slayer,” he murmured before his mouth lowered to her breasts, teasing curve and nipple while his hand continued its slow torture, his weight keeping her from moving her hips as she wished.

“Not really. There’s pretty much only the one working track,” she managed. “Do you think we could pull into the station anytime soon?”

“Poetry. It’s just sheer poetry with you.”

Despite his protests over the language, Spike didn’t seem to have any trouble with the underlying concept, given his enthusiastic cooperation in helping with the gymnastics involved in removing two pairs of pants and boots and one set of underwear in the front seat of a car.

“We need the RV,” Buffy said, rubbing at her head where she’d banged it on the door. “At least it had a bunk.”

“I've got an actual bed back in the crypt,” Spike said dryly. “But do we really want to wait?”

“Nuh-uh,” she answered firmly, sliding her arms under his and pulling him back to her.

“Besides,” he said into her mouth. “Could be worse. Could be bucket seats.”

And then the time for talking was past.

He entered her slowly, kissing her with a passionate tenderness that almost drove her wilder than the feel of him inside her. She kissed him back with everything she had, hoping to make him feel as she did, loved and wanted and safe.

It seemed to work because there was an extra shine to his eyes when he pulled back to look at her, and the smile on his lips wasn’t the familiar smart-ass grin, but just a smile of happiness.

His arms went under her, molding their bodies ever closer as they moved, the slow, languorous strokes imperceptibly growing faster and harder as the desire caught and grew between them.

Buffy whispered his name into his shoulder as she crested, and Spike pulled her head around and covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries. A moment later, he stiffened and arched, pouring into her as she held him close.

They lay still and sated on the front seat of the car, until Buffy had to finally pay attention to a leg cramp that she’d been ignoring for awhile. She nudged Spike and he shifted around until they were more or less sitting up again, although still wrapped around each other.

“It’ll be interesting driving like this,” he commented. “Bit hard to reach the gear shift.”

“Mm,” she agreed, half-asleep. “Not to mention cold. But I have confidence in you.”

“You’ll protect me from Dawn when we get back, won't you? Tell her I’m definitely playing on Team Summers? I am on the team, aren't I?”

She smiled lazily and leaned around to kiss the line of his jaw.

“You’re at least the bat-boy.”

  
The End


End file.
